


Madness

by tsthrace



Series: Songs sent, ficlets written [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breaking Up & Making Up, Coronavirus, F/F, Light Angst, Prison, climate change activism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23682742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsthrace/pseuds/tsthrace
Summary: Lexa is a methodical and calculated changemaker. Clarke is, uh, less orthodox. They drive each other mad.The climate change activism AU you didn't know you needed with a sprinkle of coronavirus love.Clarke had sabotaged the biggest day of Lexa’s career. She had commandeered her protest, her cause, undermining its legitimacy and stealing its power. Lexa was angry. But she was also worried. In all the years she had known Clarke, she’d never seen her like this.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: Songs sent, ficlets written [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1506911
Comments: 37
Kudos: 161





	Madness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LostAndDelirious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostAndDelirious/gifts).



> This little one-shot is based on [Madness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ek0SgwWmF9w) by Muse, as requested by [@cantgetoutofmyheda](https://cantgetoutofmyheda.tumblr.com/).

She had been stripped. She had been probed and prodded in places even lovers had never gone. She had been assigned a number by a male officer who referred to her only as “inmate” and refused to look her in the eye. She had been given a sandwich of dry bologna and moldy bread and a styrofoam cup of yellow-tinted water.

But none of that was worse than the manic smile on Clarke’s face.

“Can you calm her the fuck down?” The woman who asked had a tangle of long brown hair and dark circles under her eyes. She couldn’t stop her fingers from fidgeting, and her eyes scuttled from side to side like she was watching a tennis match on fast forward.

Lexa rolled her eyes. _Kettle meet pot._

“She’s not with me.” Lexa threw a sideways glance at Clarke who paced the wall of bars in the holding cell. Lexa kept her face flat, but she felt her heart pounding. 

“What the fuck, Lexa!” Clarke's sharp voice rang off the cinder block walls. She didn’t stop pacing, that empty, wild smile still spread across her face.

The fidgety woman let her eyes rest on Lexa for a split second. “She seems to know who you are, sweetie.” Her eyes took off again.

Lexa rubbed her eyes hard. What was left of her eyeliner smudged across her fingertips. This wasn’t how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to give an inspiring speech to tens of thousands of people in green shirts, rousing them to a roar no one in Exxon Mobil’s Houston compound could ignore. Drone shots would capture the magnitude of the gathering packing Springwoods Village Parkway so that every road into the campus was blocked—no one would get in and no one would get out while they were there. They had been planning it for months. Every move was choreographed. The timeline was carefully managed so as to be inconvenient but not unsafe for the people inside. But then Clarke’s Extinction Rebellion infiltrated. They brought superglue, chains, locks, signs, and 400 of their own people who were also highly choreographed, though their timeline was, well, flexible. Indefinite.

“We can spin it,” The words tumbled out of Clarke’s mouth like rocks in a landslide. “This is a win, Lexa. It’s a win. They’re already working on it. It’s already on the news.” Her eyes looked nowhere and everywhere, alive and wired to the point of vacancy.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with her?” The woman’s glance bounced back and forth off of Clarke.

Lexa didn’t know. A battle was waging inside her. Clarke had sabotaged the biggest day of Lexa’s career. She had commandeered her protest, her cause, undermining its legitimacy and stealing its power. Lexa was angry. But she was also worried. In all the years she had known Clarke, she’d never seen her like this. 

* * *

They met at UVA in their Approaches to Environmental Politics course. Clarke, a sophomore who had no business being in the upper-level class, was paired for the final project with Lexa, a senior who was just trying to get through her final semester. The project was broad and ambitious: plan one action that would have a meaningful impact on the growing climate crisis in the United States. It could be anything: legislation, corporate policy, activism. Break the action down into manageable parts. Be detailed. Account for opposing factors.

Lexa’s concentration was Environmental Policy, but she was tired. She wanted to find the plan with the fewest variables, the least amount of pushback. A major corporation like Walmart calling for biodegradable packaging in all their stores. Google switching exclusively to sustainable energy for their data center operations. Lexa hated capitalism. She faulted the constant profit and growth it demanded for getting the world into the climate crisis in the first place. But she knew, for the purposes of this project, that working within capitalism would be easiest. Being “green” was in; big moves in sustainability would be a PR dream for these corporations. And it wouldn’t disrupt the lives of the general public.

Significant change with little pushback except from the most radical in the movement. And then Lexa could graduate.

“We block railroad tracks all over the country, so that coal trains can’t get where they need to go.” This was Clarke’s idea. “We chain up to each other as blockades on the tracks. We set up camps around those blockades as a system of support and to control the narrative when the media arrives.”

It turned out that Clarke was one of the radicals. She had a dozen ideas and a hundred unconventional approaches to each of those ideas, and they all boiled down to massive disruption for the sake of an ultimate good. 

“If this plays out and all your dreams come true, millions of people will be without electricity.” Lexa rolled her eyes. “All you’ll have is a bunch of people resentful of your movement. That’s gonna be the narrative.”

“So you just want to sell out?” Clarke returned the eye roll. Her face still had the soft roundness of a girl still trying to become a woman. Her voice seemed an octave too high. “You want to work with the people who created the mess in the first place?”

“It’s not selling out, it’s being realistic.” Lexa wondered if she had been so naive when she was a spry underclasswomen. “Besides, do you know how many contingencies we’ll have to plan for? National guard. Fox News painting us as lunatics. Working class railroad workers pissed that they can’t do their jobs. Do you think they’re gonna get paid when the trains aren’t moving?”

“This isn’t the time for incremental change, Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes darkened in a way that startled Lexa. “This is a crisis. We could be at the point of no return in a decade. People need to make sacrifices”

“This is a final project for a college class, Clarke,” Every word came out slowly, deliberately, quietly. Clarke didn’t know her well enough yet to know that Lexa getting quiet should set off alarms. “I just want to get an A and be done. You can save the world after I graduate.”

“You don’t even care, do you?” Clarke’s face looked more sad than angry.

“I do care, Clarke.” Lexa sighed. Clarke’s words stung, and it surprised her. “And I plan on doing the actual work when I get out of here. So can we please just make it easy on ourselves for now?”

“If you cared, you’d take every opportunity you get to make a difference.”

The next six weeks were a string of arguments, eye rolls, and unsatisfying compromises. Their final product earned them a B-minus. On the last day of class, Lexa strode out the door without even a glance in Clarke’s direction. 

But then UVA gave her the best package for grad school, and she found herself on campus for another two years. Her first year of classes kept her far away from the undergrads. She’d seen Clarke a few times in the coffee shops on the edge of campus and once at the library, but had always managed to keep her distance. For some reason, the sight of Clarke gave her a vague sense of guilt. It picked at her like a vulture picks at roadkill. 

But Lexa’s fellowship required her to TA her second year. The thought of teaching Intro to Poli-Sci made her want to claw her eyes out, but Lexa made sure it didn’t come to that. She engaged in a quiet networking campaign in which she happened to be at the same bar as the dean and then somehow got herself invited to dinner at Dr. Gudmundsson’s house. The professor’s children were delighted by her explanation of why rain happens. The following week she was assigned to assist in the professor’s Sustainability and Adaptive Infrastructure course, a high-level class that required more support of student research than actual teaching. 

Adaptive infrastructure had become Lexa’s speciality during her grad studies. Intentionally building entire cities from their sewage systems to the top of their skyscrapers in the image of its people’s shared values would require not only intellect but power, and Lexa was both smart and ambitious. 

She almost didn’t recognize Clarke in the second row of desks on the first day of class. She looked different. Her face curved more sharply towards her chin, her jaw line harder. Her blonde hair had been long two years ago, but now it barely reached past her ears in a scrappy bob. There was a steadiness in her eyes balanced by a glimmering intensity. She hadn’t become a woman so much as she had become so much more herself. 

Clarke noticed her, though, and threw a dismissive smirk at Lexa before she turned to square her shoulders to the front of the room.

A wave of irritation rolled through Lexa when she realized she was biting her lip. She sighed. At least they wouldn’t be assigned any final projects together. Besides, maybe Clarke’s approaches had gotten more sophisticated. Maybe she had grown up since the baby curves on her face had melted away. 

The first assignment proved otherwise. Lexa graded all the weekly assignments, and Clarke was furious with her six out of ten points. 

“Is this some kind of long-awaited vengeance?” Clarke had stormed into Lexa’s tiny office during office hours.

Lexa barely looked up from the email she was reading. “Are you serious?”

“I followed the assignment. I hit all the requirements.” Clarke pointed at her phone where, presumably, a copy of her graded assignment was on the screen. 

Lexa couldn’t see it in the glare of the office light, but she remembered it. It was creative, clever, but not what she was supposed to do. Her head didn’t move, but her eyes shot up to meet Clarke’s.

“You didn’t even try to hide the fact that you’re only studying Chicago’s bus system in order to disrupt it.” She let out a deep breath. “And you did a great job finding the limitations in routes and efficiency. I can tell you understood the study, which is why you got six points.”

“But I followed the assignment.” Both of Clarke’s hands were now on the edge of the desk as she leaned in.

“No.” Lexa sat back and closed her laptop. “You didn’t. And you know you didn’t. Maybe you can get away with that in other classes, but we need you to follow instructions. You can get creative with your final project.”

“Will you be grading that, too?”

“Part of it, probably.”

“Then I doubt I’ll be able to get too creative.” Clarke huffed and slung her backpack over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

The rest of Clarke’s assignments were flawless, though her analysis had a spiteful flourish to them. Each time, she found the most obvious conclusions and spent far more words than necessary coming to them. After four weeks, Lexa could only laugh. She had to hand it to her: even as she colored within the lines, Clarke managed to protest. It was artful.

They didn’t acknowledge each other in class. Most of the other students held Lexa with an earnest and completely unearned reverence. She had a presence, a silence that made her intriguing. The boys gave her shy smiles when she walked in, and she’d acknowledge them with a curt nod—which only drew them in more.

Halfway through the semester, Lexa noticed Clarke lingering in her office doorway. She could tell from her body language that she did not want to come in.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Ms. Griffin, can I do something for you?”

Clarke looked up. “Can I come in?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Clarke walked in and looked back. “Can I shut the door?”

Lexa was intrigued. “Uh, sure.” She smirked. “You’re not here to yell at me, are you? Your work has been more than acceptable.”

“No, it’s not that.” Clarke sat down in the chair uninvited. “I...uh...I need a recommendation. From Dr. Gudmundsson. But she told me I had to go through you.”

“You could have emailed me.”

“That felt...cowardly.”

Lexa’s forehead creased. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I mean, given our history.”

“Clarke, it’s not like I have any say in your recommendation.” Lexa sighed. “It’s just a form that I need to fill out. Or you fill out, ideally, and give it back to me. Dr. Gudmundsson glances at it, I draft a letter, and she signs it. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing for you, but maybe it’ll feel less disappointing to know that I’m basically her administrative assistant. For this kind of stuff, at least.”

“It’s…” Clarke paused and took a deep breath. Streaks of sunlight streamed through the branches of a tree and broke across her. “Look, I know how this works.”

“Good.” Lexa shrugged. “I’ll email you the form.”

“Can we just do it now?” Clarke was chewing on her lip, her finger tapping on the arm of the chair.

“Uh, sure.” This wasn’t how Lexa wanted to spend her office hours. “Let me just pull it up.” Her eyes darted around the screen. “Okay.” She asked some logistical questions about Clarke’s major and concentration, electives she’s taken, and planned graduation date. Then she went to the next part of the form.

“Okay, so who are we sending this recommendation to?” 

Clarke smiled and looked down. “Friends of the Earth in Ireland.”

Lexa typed. “Okay, for what, though?”

“Their Extinction Rebellion training program. It’s kind of like a fellowship.”

Lexa stopped typing. “Aren’t those the people who superglued themselves to the gates of, like, a hundred coal mines last July?”

Suddenly, Clarke was looking her straight in the eyes. “Yes.” 

Lexa felt that strange guilt wash over her. She sucked in her lips and decided not to comment. She looked down at the screen. “So what do you think your intellectual strengths are?”

That night, Lexa was having a drink with some of the other TAs when she noticed Clarke across the bar. She was with a group, sitting next to a completely unremarkable young man whose face was giving her his complete and devoted attention as she talked. It wasn’t clear if Clarke knew he was there. 

Lexa smiled. _Boys are so ridiculous._

She sipped at her beer and silently nodded through the TAs’ complaints about work conditions and bad pay. It’s not that she didn’t agree with them, but it was all they had been talking about for the last thirty minutes, the last thirty days. And she only had one semester to go. By the time it was actually resolved, she’d probably be gone.

She scooted her chair out and left her ranting colleagues to find the bathroom. Two gender neutral bathrooms lined a narrow hallway, and both doors were locked. As she waited, wondering if the narrow hallway was ADA compliant, one of the doorknobs rattled and Clarke emerged.

“Oh, hey.” Clarke looked past Lexa, almost like she was embarrassed.

“Hey.” Lexa studied Clarke’s face. It was strange to see her looking unsure. She waited for Clarke to move so she could get into the bathroom. She didn’t move. Instead, she leaned against the door frame.

“Can you believe this virus thing?” she asked.

“What?” Lexa squinted. 

“The virus, the Coronavirus that’s going around in China. Seems like a pretty big deal.” Clarke finally looked at Lexa. “I’ve heard there are some cases in Italy, too.”

Lexa remembered seeing something on Twitter but hadn’t paid much attention. “I haven’t heard much.”

“I just wonder if we should be nervous.” Clarke’s confidence seemed to return. “I don’t think this country is prepared for anything like that.” She scoffed. “I mean, I don’t think this administration is prepared for much of anything.”

Lexa tilted her head. She didn’t know why Clarke was suddenly bantering with her about viruses. “Can I…?” She looked behind Clarke, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” The hallway wasn’t so narrow that they couldn’t get past each other, but their arms brushed against each other in a way that made Clarke look back when she got to the end of the brief corridor. Lexa was already closing the door behind her. Clarke bit her lip and went back to her table.

At the start of their next class, Lexa noticed that Clarke looked up when she walked in, though she looked away quickly.

It was Lexa’s task that day to explain the students’ final project. It was relatively straightforward: choose one infrastructural element in your hometown, assess its current efficiency in terms of sustainability, and design three ways to improve that efficiency—two of which were realistic given financial, social, and political limitations, and one pie-in-the-sky, no holds barred approach.

Lexa had a feeling which one Clarke would devote most of her time to.

To her surprise, Clarke dropped in during her office hours again a week later. She didn’t linger outside the door this time, she just walked right in. Even more surprising, it was to ask about writing policy and navigating local government legislation. 

“I mean, tax breaks created a society of stand-alone homeowners, right? So why can’t tax breaks encourage high-density living and co-housing?” Clarke spoke breathlessly. When she committed to something, she threw herself in, even if it was housing policy.

“Aren’t we talking about Bangor, Maine?” Lexa asked. “Isn’t that a small town?”

“Not tiny.” Clarke squinted, annoyed. “And besides, high-density housing isn’t just for big cities. It’s not just good for sustainability. It helps build community. When people encounter each other everyday, they start to care about each other. People are super isolated in Bangor.”

Lexa nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t need to know the particulars. She was just glad Clarke was finally recognizing how long-term change realistically happened. “So what are your other two approaches?”

Clarke pulled out what appeared to be a folded engineering map of a Bangor neighborhood. “Do you mind?” She nodded at the blank space on Lexa’s desk.

“Sure.”

They both leaned over the map as Clarke pointed out potential locations for rainwater collection tanks. 

“This is pretty ambitious,” Lexa said, her eyebrows raised. She looked down again, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her long hair tumbling towards the map and hiding her face. 

Before she could stop herself, Clarke reached up and slid the loose hair behind Lexa’s ear. They both froze. Lexa felt goosebumps shoot up her arms. Clarke bit her lip in a dare. She didn’t mean for this to happen, but maybe...she did?

Lexa eyes shot to the map. She felt Clarke’s hand slide over hers. She glanced over and saw the line of Clarke’s neck curving delicately as her head tilted in her direction. She suddenly loved that line, wanted to run her finger over it. 

She swallowed hard and pulled away.

“We...this…” She fumbled her words. “We can’t do this.” She looked up at Clarke with stony eyes, though uncertainty lingered at their edges.

“Oh, right.” Clarke grabbed at the corner of the map, sweeping it in a wave off the desk. She didn’t bother to fold it as she gathered her backpack with her other hand. She turned towards the door without looking back. 

At that moment, both of their cell phones buzzed. Clarke stopped and looked at Lexa who was already looking at the text. 

**_Attention. There has been an emergency on the UVA Charlottesville campus. Health services has identified 23 cases of the Novel Coronavirus today. This virus is extremely contagious. To limit the spread, you are instructed to shelter in place. Please do not move from your current location until directed by authorities. If you are indoors, close internal doors and open external doors and windows. If you are outdoors, remain outdoors._ **

A tinny female voice repeated the message from a public address system in the hallway.

Clarke let the map flutter to the floor. “Shit.” She closed the office door.

Lexa let something that was half a sigh, half a laugh escape from her mouth. She went to the window to push it open.

“This isn’t funny,” Clarke said quickly, her eyes wide. “This could be really bad. I read that this virus can be airborne for a long time. They don’t even know what the incubation period is.” She turned her wide eyes on Lexa, suddenly worried. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” Lexa said, throwing up her hands. “Except I didn’t eat lunch. So there’s that.”

“This is serious, Lexa.” Clarke’s words were quick and clipped. “People have died in China, and it’s getting worse in Europe.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No, but—”

“Then let’s just deal with what’s happening right now.” Lexa’s voice was calm, almost soothing.

Clarke sighed loudly and collapsed into the chair. “You mean the fact that I’m now stuck here with you?”

Lexa bit her lip. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

Clarke looked out the window. “Let’s...just forget…”

“Clarke…” Lexa leaned back in her chair. “It’s not that—”

“What is your deal, Lexa?” Clarke stood up, suddenly angry. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me from the second we met.”

“I just don’t think changing the world requires breaking everything, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. “It’s nothing personal.”

It only made Clarke get louder. “No big change has ever happened because people were following the rules.” Her face went red. “You’re smart, Lexa. I know you are. And you care. You just don’t care enough.”

Lexa felt her heart pounding, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t move. She had been accused of not caring her whole life, people mistaking her calm for distance, her quiet for heartlessness. Even as she spent three years of undergrad building the network and support to change the university’s HVAC system from fossil-fuel based to an electric heat recovery model. It wasn’t glamorous, but it reduced the school’s emissions by almost 50%. Even as she slowly persuaded Dr. Gudmundsson to support the TA’s cause, one small conversation in passing at a time. Even though she’d never see the fruits of that labor.

She looked out the open window. “You don’t know me.” Her voice was soft and even yet somehow completely commanding.

“You’re right.” Clarke took a deep breath and sat back down. She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I _don’t_ care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.” 

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest. 

A door in the hallway crashed open, and heavy feet marched down the hallway pausing until a muffled voice shouted, “Clear!” Then the steps continued, then paused. “Clear!” Again and again. 

Clarke looked out the window of Lexa’s office door and saw two people in hazmat suits scanning every office down the hallway. She watched until they finally made their way to her. 

“We got two!” a man yelled through his plastic mask.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked through the window.

“That virus,” the man said as he tapped on the phone he was holding. His face was sweating. “The one on the news. There’s been an outbreak on campus. We don’t know much about it, but it’s supposed to be super contagious. We’re just being cautious.” 

“I can go straight home,” Clarke said, her voice on the edge of frantic. “I only live two blocks from here. I’ll stay far away from people.”

“No,” the muffled voice replied. “You have to shelter in place until we can test you. The tests are on the way. Should only be an hour or two.”

“Do you see the size of this office?” She looked back and saw Lexa looking up at her with smug but amused eyes, which only irritated her more. “Half of it is taken up by a desk. There’s no food.”

“I have a protein bar,” Lexa said, shrugging.

Clarke rolled her eyes.

“It’ll only be a few hours,” the man repeated. “You’re big girls.”

“What did you say?” Clarke squinted at him with sharp eyes. Her hand reached for the doorknob.

“Clarke.” Lexa said, quiet but unassailable.

Clarke’s hand dropped.

The man either didn’t see or acted like he didn’t see. “I need to get contact info from both of you. Names, numbers, and emails.”

“Why?” Clarke crossed her hands in front of her. 

She didn’t see Lexa rolling her eyes behind her. “I don’t know, Clarke,” Lexa said. “Maybe so they can get in touch with us while we’re trapped in this room and let us know what’s going on.”

Clarke sighed and sat down in the chair across from Lexa. “Fine.” 

They both gave their information, and the two hazmats suits continued on their search. “Someone will be here in a couple hours.” The man called back as he walked off.

“I don’t trust them.” Clarke sunk into the chair.

“Seems to be a theme.” Lexa gathered her hair with both hands and pulled it back into a bun. She sat back. “You could obviously handle a campus outbreak much more competently.”

Clarke opened her mouth then realized that Lexa was suddenly leaning forward, waiting for a response. Her eyes were shining. Clarke bit her lip and sat down. She looked down at her hands. A thick silence filled the tiny office. A cool breeze circled the office, rustling her hair. She pulled her jacket closed around her, and turned to look out the window. 

Lexa sat back and noticed that curve in Clarke’s neck again. Somehow soft and sharp at the same time. She felt one corner of her mouth curve up and shook her head. She shivered. Clarke noticed.

“Should we shut the window?”

Lexa had a quip ready about Clarke being the epidemic expert, but she sucked in her lips instead. “Do you think it’s safe?”

A tired smile crawled across Clarke’s lips. “I don’t know. But I’m cold.”

Lexa stood up to close the window.

Clarke took in a breath and held it for a moment. “I didn’t mean…” She said, letting the breath out. “I didn’t mean to step over a line. I just figured...I mean, you’re only two years older than me, and I know you’re a TA, but…”

The corner of Lexa’s lip creeped up again in a sad but kind way. “It’s not that, Clarke.” She looked up. “I mean it is. Professors discourage it, but it’s not forbidden. But…” The sadness melted off her smile as it widened. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you kind of drive me crazy.” Lexa bit her lip.

Clarke tilted head. “Crazy how?” A light shone in her eyes. She stood up.

Lexa watched her as she circled the desk, that curve of her neck running smooth. 

“Like crazy in a bad way?” Clarke stopped just in front of Lexa and leaned against the desk.

“Definitely,” Lexa responded, her eyes shining. She leaned back. An invitation.

Clarke bent down and put her hand on Lexa’s cheek. Then she leaned in.

Lexa jerked her head back quickly, though mischief danced in her eyes. “You sure you want to do that? I could get you sick.”

“I don’t care,” Clarke replied just before her lips reached Lexa’s.

* * *

When they went home that day, they didn’t know that, though they lived less than half a mile from one another, they wouldn’t see each other again for three months. They didn’t know they wouldn’t be allowed to leave their homes except to buy groceries. They didn’t know that classes would be moved online for the rest of the year. They didn’t know that the only fanfare there’d be for graduation was receiving a piece of fancy paper in the mail in July. 

They didn’t know that it would be a terrible time to fall in love. But they did it anyway. They sat on Google Hangouts while they studied together. They sent Spotify playlists that they carefully curated for each other. Clarke mailed Lexa sketches she made of Lexa’s face from classes on Zoom. Lexa sent Clarke seductive texts during those classes and smirked as her face went red. Late at night, they touched themselves together on speakerphone, hoping their roommates wouldn’t hear.

When the quarantine finally lifted in early July, their reunion was marked only by their roommates who occasionally caught them in the kitchen grabbing food or walking from the bathroom back to the bedroom. 

When Lexa landed a prestigious internship at the World Resources Institute, she convinced Clarke to move to Washington DC with her. Clarke’s Friends of the Earth training had been moved from Ireland to online, and DC wasn’t a bad place to find activist friends. 

They found a tiny studio in Southeast. Lexa took the green line to H Street every day. Her work took her to Capitol Hill where she sat silently in meetings and took in the careful dance between her supervisors and congressional leaders. It was a game of give and take, sometimes infuriatingly slow and steady—too much given, not enough won.

“By the time you make any change, the planet will already be burning.” Clarke was stirring a pot of jarred pasta sauce. Neither of them had ever been very interested in cooking. “It already is.”

Lexa sighed. This was a variation on a nightly conversation. She moved in behind Clarke, wrapping her arms around her and resting her head on her shoulder. Her blonde hair smelled like summer. “Not tonight, okay?”

The scent of mediocre tomato sauce filled the room. Lexa sat down. “Anyways, how was your day?”

Clarke looked back with a hint of trouble in her eyes. “We talked about how to, uh, accelerate government action.” She smiled that smile that both drew Lexa in and infuriated her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk.” Lexa rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stifle the grin.

Clarke set the wooden spoon down. She strode across their tiny kitchen and straddled Lexa, sliding her fingers up Lexa’s neck and through her hair. She smiled that smile and bit her lip. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

* * *

After three years, Clarke had turned their tiny apartment into the neighborhood headquarters for climate justice. Flyers about pollution in Congress Heights covered their kitchen table. Posters illustrating rising sea levels along the Anacostia River were stacked on a chair in the living room. Every Tuesday night, she gathered a small group of activists to brainstorm projects and actions. 

Lexa complained whenever she was home, which was rare. She had been promoted to project manager and was gone for days or weeks at a time at meetings in The Hague or conferences in South Korea.

“Do you know how much fossil fuel those trips put into the atmosphere?” Clarke had a hard time understanding how the good Lexa was doing at these meetings outweighed their carbon footprint.

“I’m sure you can tell me the exact amount,” Lexa snapped. She had just gotten home from the Netherlands and was not in the mood for Clarke’s preaching. She looked from the pile of flyers on the table to the bed which was a messy heap of blankets to the stack of dishes in the sink. 

“What do you even do when I’m gone?”

Clarke lowered her head, and her eyes narrowed. She took in a long breath as her jaw clenched. 

“You don’t get to do that,” she said in a low voice. “You don’t get to come back and act like you’re the only one doing ‘real’ work.” Her air quotes were comically exaggerated. “Just because I’m not on Capitol Hill or at the fucking Hague doesn’t mean I’m not doing real work. I’m not your housewife, Lexa.” 

In three years, Clarke had learned that Lexa heard her whispers better than her shouts. She had learned that her anger distilled and harnessed got her much further than her anger exploded and dispersed. She didn’t realize in the moment that she had learned those things from Lexa.

Lexa clenched her fists and took a breath. She let her fingers relax. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Clarke looked down. “I don’t know if we should be doing this at all.”

* * *

Clarke moved into a giant, run-down house on the edge of the city with some activist friends. Lexa found a studio in Logan Circle. 

“This isn’t what I wanted.” Clarke turned the key to their apartment over and over in her hand.

Lexa looked up from the box she was taping up. Her green eyes were heavy. “It’s not what I wanted either, Clarke.”

Clarke looked slowly around the mostly empty apartment. It made her smile, and it made her tired. So many memories. Lexa stood up. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat, but her shoulders were pulled back. She stood up straight, unshakeable.

If things were different, Clarke would have hugged her until her body went soft. Instead, she set the key on the kitchen counter. She looked up. “I love you, Lex.”

Lexa nodded slowly and sucked in her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

Clarke turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

* * *

Their paths crossed only a few times in the following years—at coffee shops in Capitol Hill and once at a bar in Southeast. Lexa texted Clarke on her birthday. Clarke texted Lexa when she found out Lexa had been hired as the Executive Director of Organizing for Climate Action, or OCA. 

**_Can’t wait to see all the incremental change you make,_ ** Clarke’s text read after the initial congratulations. She couldn’t resist. Lexa didn’t respond.

Clarke never told her that she kept a binder full of Lexa’s white papers. She didn’t tell her that she sometimes googled Lexa’s name and watched her interviews from local news shows on YouTube. OCA was steadily and methodically taking on the fossil fuel industry, coordinating deep investigation with targeted peaceful protest to force oil companies into altering their practices, and Lexa was quietly becoming a driver of the movement. Clarke, despite her irritation, couldn’t help but be proud.

What Lexa was gaining in influence Clarke was gaining in notoriety. Her first action was a die-in at Union Station 300 people covered in fake blood laid down across the public transit hub, stifling the morning commute. They demanded that Congress and the President declare a climate emergency. Clarke had coordinated logistics and wrote the demands. A few months later, she traveled south where she and 500 others covered in blue paint chained themselves to each other in a rough line across downtown Miami where the sea was predicted to rise in 50 years. This time, she was the one with the loudspeaker. She talked to the media, declaring their demands.

Lexa rolled her eyes when she saw a very blue Clarke on CNN calling for legislative and economic climate action. But she also couldn’t help but smile. This was always who Clarke was going to become.

But their worlds didn’t come together in a meaningful way for six years—when they locked eyes across a sea of people in Houston, Texas.

* * *

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” Lexa said under her breath as she watched her carefully orchestrated protest disintegrate. Her green-shirted supporters looked around in confusion as the Extinction Rebellion chained themselves to gates and trees and then to each other in lines across the roads that led in and out of Exxon Mobil’s facilities. 

“Lexa!” a muffled voice called through the walkie-talkie. “What do we do?”

“Just keep everyone calm.” Her voice was low, barely containing her anger. 

The news crews that had been gathered at OCA’s speaker podium started migrating towards the sudden action at the gates and intersections. Some of the green shirts were joining the human chain. 

“For decades, Exxon Mobil has been a leader.” She heard Clarke’s voice ringing out over the crowd. Clarke was standing in the bed of a truck where a makeshift PA system had been set up. “A leader in pumping carbon into our atmosphere. A leader in pushing for deregulation of laws that protect our earth. A leader in covering up fossil fuel’s impact on our environment. They knew. Oh, yes, they knew. And now they’re not going anywhere until they listen to what we have to say!”

A massive cheer went up. The crowd, including Lexa’s green shirts, raised their fists and phones.

“We will be heard! We will be heard! We will be heard!” Clarke started chanting, and Lexa’s green sea followed her, their voices echoing down the long parkway.

“Lexa!” the voice called through the walkie talkie. “You’re losing them. You have to do something!”

 _Fuck you, Clarke_ , was the chant repeating through Lexa’s thoughts as she swam through the crowd towards her. She was at least 100 yards away, and the crowd was thick.

The people went silent as Clarke climbed onto the roof of the truck with her mic. “They will continue to profit on the destruction of our planet, of our home, as long as we let them.” Her voice swelled. “We must stop them.”

“We must stop them! We must stop them!” The crowd took up her words again.

Lexa finally made her way to the truck and looked up at Clarke. _What the fuck are you doing?_ Her eyes said what she couldn’t say out loud. Clarke smiled and jumped into the bed of the truck again. 

“Does OCA stand with us?” Clarke asked into the mic. She looked across at the mass of green shirts around her before her eyes settled on Lexa. She held her hand out to Lexa, inviting her up into the truck bed.

Lexa felt hot anger pulsing through her veins. Anger that Clarke stole her moment. Anger that all the details she had so carefully plotted were now falling to the ground like broken glass. Anger that she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t refuse Clarke, not now. She grabbed her hand and climbed into the truck, and Clarke immediately jumped onto the roof and waited for Lexa to follow. 

Lexa swallowed hard, letting go of her plans, her pride, her power. She grabbed the mic from Clarke’s hand.

“We stand together to call Exxon Mobil to accountability!”

The crowd roared, and she felt it wash across her like a wave. This was power, but not the power she was used to. This was raw and untamed. Clarke took her hand and they turned to face each other. The blue in her eyes flashed, and the power danced between them.

The energy suddenly changed. Shouts went up together with bursts of smoke. Tear gas. The crowd jolted, looking for an escape all at once. The people chained together cried out, unable to bring their hands locked in tubes to their faces. The edges of the sea spilled out across the parkway.

“Don’t run, Lexa.” Clarke’s voice was calm, but something wild lingered at the edge of her words. “They can’t see you run.” She gripped her hand hard. “Stay with me.”

Lexa saw black spots pushing through the crowd towards them. 

“Those aren’t cops, Lexa.” Clarke’s chest rose and fell quickly. “They’re private security. We’re on a public road. They shouldn’t be touching us. Stand your ground.”

“How can you tell?” Lexa hated how her voice was shaking.

Clarke’s jaw clenched. “You always thought my training was ridiculous…”

Six black spots surrounded the truck, men covered in riot gear. “Security! You need to come down.”

“No, we don’t,” Clarke said with her wild calm. 

“Come down or we will bring you down.” The man sounded like he was enjoying himself.

“Go ahead.” Clarke shrugged. “We’ll bring a lawsuit.”

The speed of their violence startled Lexa. They leapt into the bed of the truck and grabbed Clarke’s legs, pulling them out from under her. Clarke grunted as her back caught the edge of the roof. She went silent when the back of her head slammed into the bed of the truck. 

“Clarke!” Lexa shouted as she dropped to her knees and held up her hands. The riot men grasped at her. “If you fucking touch me…” She drew her shoulders back and glared as she started to climb down. The men let her climb down.

As she dropped into the bed of the truck, she saw the men pulling Clarke’s limp arms behind her to cable-tie her wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Lexa rushed to her body. She glanced at the dozens of green shirts that had gathered around the truck holding up cell phones. “You sure you want to do that? She’s not even conscious.” 

The men backed off.

Lexa folded herself over Clarke. “Clarke,” she whispered frantically. “Are you okay? Wake up.” She swallowed. “Please.”

Clarke stirred. 

“Oh my God.” Lexa gathered her into her arms. “Are you okay?”

Clarke slowly turned and looked up at Lexa with drowsy eyes. “I can’t believe you’re with me right now.”

Lexa felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m so fucking mad at you.” She smiled.

Sirens rang out in the distance.

Clarke closed her eyes and smiled. “It was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. You organized it so well.”

“Fuck you, Clarke.” Lexa leaned over and kissed her forehead. 

When the police arrived, Clarke was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. 

“These are the leaders?” they asked the private security men.

“Yeah,” said the man who had pulled Clarke down. “They incited this whole thing.”

“This was a legal gathering,” Lexa said. “I have permits.”

“It stopped being legal when the chains came out,” one of the cops said. “You’re both under arrest.”

Clarke remained conspicuously silent as they were read their rights. Fury wrestled with concern inside Lexa. She was worried about Clarke, but she was also being arrested because of her. When Clarke stood up and swayed, losing her footing for a moment, the concern made a comeback.

“Shouldn’t she see a doctor or something?” 

“She seems fine to me,” a policewoman said as she led Clarke away towards a separate car. Clarke looked back at Lexa with sleepy eyes.

“Do you want to make a call?” Lexa heard a man’s voice ask distantly.

“What?” She turned. The man arresting her had soft eyes.

“I’m about to take your cell phone,” he said. “Do you want to make a call before I do?”

“Is that allowed?”

“It’s at our discretion.” 

“Did she get a call?” Lexa nodded in the direction of Clarke.

“I don’t know. I didn’t arrest her.” His soft eyes became impatient. “I’m not going to offer again.” 

Lexa sighed and pulled out her phone. She found Eleanor, the chairwoman of OCA’s board of directors, in her contacts.

“Lexa!” Eleanor’s voice was frantic. “Are you okay? I saw the video.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, it’s all over Twitter. Who was the other woman? The blonde. Is she alright?”

“That’s the woman from Extinction Rebellion.” Lexa felt the fury crest as she refused to say Clarke’s name. “Listen, I’m being arrested.”

“What? Why?”

“They think I was part of—”

“Thirty seconds,” the cop interrupted.

“Listen, Eleanor,” Lexa took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back. “I need you to figure this out. Bail me out or whatever...I’ve never done this before.” 

“We’re already in touch with the lawyers,” Eleanor said. “Just hold tight.”

“End it now,” the cop reached for her phone.

Lexa clenched her jaw as she ended the call and handed him her phone.

* * *

Clarke’s pacing had grown frantic.

“Calling into the water,” Her words came out louder and more senseless with every passing minute. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” Her frenzy filled the small holding cell. 

Their tangled-haired cellmate’s eyes followed her back and forth. Her face had grown pale, and her finger-fidgeting sped to a wild pace. She looked like she was going to be sick—or start a fight.

Lexa glanced between the two of them, feeling the tension push at the edges of the small space, the bars of the cells trapping everything. Her rage had carried her through the first hour. She had ignored Clarke, hoping she’d calm down so she could be properly angry with her. But Clarke hadn’t calmed down. Her eyes grew more vacant with every passing hour, her pacing quicker and more rickety. 

“Facing the springs,” she mumbled, stumbling a moment before her hand caught a bar to steady herself. 

“You need to do something.” The fidgety woman’s shaky eyes landed on Lexa. Her shifty fingers were now balled into tight fist. “Or I will.”

Lexa’s muscled stiffened. She felt her heart beating evenly, solidly throughout her body, and time seemed to slow. Her anger at Clarke had been boiling at the surface, but it seemed to melt, rolling off her skin, as something spread through her from her very core, taking control. She turned her whole body towards the woman and tilted her head down while shifting her eyes up.

“Just try,” she said, her voice low and quiet.

The woman wrapped her arms around herself and pushed herself against the wall. “Just…” Her eyes shot upwards, glancing everywhere except in Lexa’s direction. “I didn’t mean anything…” She let out a sigh, and her body seemed to go limp like an opossum playing dead.

Lexa exhaled. “Right.” She turned her head towards Clarke’s quick, hollow voice.

“Can’t climb the clock,” Clarke was saying. She was panting and sweat trickled down the side of her face. “Can’t climb it.”

Fear started to creep through Lexa. Clarke had always been intense, always danced at the edge of wild, but she was also calculated. She never lost control. She managed madness like an ER doctor, knowing which screams mattered and which could wait. At least that was the Clarke Lexa had known. But now the madness was taking over. She swayed with the nonsense of her words, even as her feet kept carrying her back and forth, back and forth. They wouldn’t keep her up much longer.

Lexa swallowed, longing for the anger that had now fallen away. It had anchored her. It had made being in jail tolerable. It had given this terrible day meaning. It had made looking at Clarke tolerable. She was familiar with anger—knew how to stoke it like a well-tended fire that would burn hot but not too big.

A fire she could manage. She didn’t know what to do with fear. And Clarke was scaring her. 

Clarke’s legs finally gave out. She fell hard, her knees crunching onto the cement floor. 

Instinctively, Lexa darted to the floor beside her. She gathered Clarke in her arms. She was burning up. At first, she was dead weight against her, but she slowly lifted herself up as if waking up.

“Clarke?” Lexa whispered.

“Lexa?” It took a few moments for some life to come back into her blue eyes. They steadied, tired but focused. “What are you doing here?”

“Inmate 67348!” A man’s voice echoed through the cell. 

Lexa looked down at the stick-on badge they had given her. 67360. Not her. She looked down at Clarke’s. Not her either.

The fidgety woman seemed to be asleep in the corner. 

The guard shouted this time. “Inmate 67348!”

The fidgety woman shuddered and blinked her eyes open.

“Do you want out of here or what?” The guard didn’t lower the volume. “You made bail. Let’s go.”

The woman looked so pale that Lexa was almost worried about her. But she wasn’t her problem anymore. She shuffled out of the cell, and the cell door slid closed with a crash. 

It was just the two of them now.

“Lexa,” Clarke’s eyes drooped. “Where are we?”

Lexa squinted at her. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

Lexa let out a long breath as she finally realized what was happening. Memory loss. Fever. She swallowed.

“We’re in jail, Clarke.”

“What? Why?” Clarke’s eyes closed and her head tilted against Lexa.

“No, no, no, Clarke.” Lexa shook her. “Wake up. You need to stay awake.”

Clarke lifted her head, blinking her eyes like she’d had a little too much tequila. 

“Let’s go sit on the cot.” Lexa stood and helped Clarke to her feet. They shuffled to the cot. Lexa rested her back against the wall and propped Clarke into a sitting position. 

“Why are we in jail, Lexa?” Clarke’s voice was quiet like a child’s.

“We were at a protest.”

“You got arrested with me?” Clarke's smile was drunken, gleeful, and exhausted. For a moment, Lexa saw what she must have looked like as a child when she was begging to stay up with her parents even as she was asleep on her feet.

“Sort of.” Lexa sighed. It wasn’t worth getting into.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” Her eyelids fell again.

“Stay with me, Clarke.” 

“I’m here.” Clarke’s voice was sweet and quiet. “I still like you, you know. I mean, love you. Always have. There’ve been others since, obviously, but...not like you.” Clarke fell quiet for a long time. 

Lexa swallowed and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her heart started pounding in her chest. She felt like she was hearing a secret she shouldn’t be hearing, but she wanted to hear more. She took a few deep breaths, bit her lip, then finally shook her head.

“Clarke, wake up.” She put her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pulled her towards her. “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

Lexa spent the next two hours nudging Clarke awake when she faded and asking her things. Recent things. Factual things. When Clarke hazily asked her if she remembered that day in her office when the coronavirus hit, Lexa steered her back towards the details of her activist training. 

Eventually, after several deflections, Clarke lifted her head like it weighed a hundred pounds so she could look at Lexa. “Why won’t you talk about us?”

“Because it’s not the right time.”

“Do you still love me?” She cut to the center of it, never one to give up. Her voice was quiet but clearer than it had been.

Lexa took a few breaths before turning her head and looking into Clarke’s eyes. “It’s impossible not to love you.”

“Inmate 67360!” The guard's voice rang. He looked into the cell. “You made bail. Unless you want to keep cuddling with your girlfriend.”

“She’s hurt,” Lexa said as she stood. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“She hasn’t made bail.”

“She might have a head injury.” She narrowed her eyes at the guard.

“She hasn’t made bail,” he repeated without an ounce of feeling. “Do you want to leave?” He looked up. There was a bit of feeling in his eyes. “You can probably help her more out there.”

Lexa nodded slowly and looked back at Clarke. “Are you okay?”

Clarke’s eyes were glassy, but a tired, wistful smile crossed her face. “I think so.” Her eyes drooped again. “Lex, how’d we get here?”

Lexa sucked in her lips. She hated to leave but the guard was right. She walked to the bed and bent down so that her face was even with Clarke’s. She brushed her fingers down her cheek. 

“I have to go, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded as her eyes slowly closed.

“Clarke! You need to stay awake.” Lexa shook her shoulders. “Hey.” She put her cheek against Clarke’s and whispered into her ear. “Just for a little longer.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

It was late into the night when Lexa was released. Eleanor was waiting in the lobby for her. She was an older woman who had made the most of a marriage into money, smart enough to wield it to her will but smooth enough that people still liked her when she did. A natural-born chairwoman of a national organization’s board. Lexa was less charming and more aggressively direct, which made them a good team.

Lexa was surprised first by how sharp the older woman looked for the end of a disastrous day and then by the positively giddy smile on her face. Eleanor seemed to notice and evened out her features.

“Are you okay?” she asked like she was supposed to.

“What is going on?” Lexa was more interested in why Eleanor was so being so weird.

The smile splashed across Eleanor’s face again. “Everyone has seen the video, Lexa. It caught fire on twitter and then CNN picked it up and then all the rest. I’ve been fielding interviews all night.”

“What video?”

“Videos, actually. Dozens of them. From the protest. Everyone saw those goons take down that blonde woman.” Eleanor led her outside towards a waiting car. “It looked bad. Do you think that woman is alright? I mean, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but….Don’t you know her?”

Lexa bit her lip. “Yeah.”

Eleanor gushed past her. “Lexa, they want to talk to us.”

“Who?”

“Exxon Mobil’s people.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you understand how bad the videos look.”

“Of Clarke getting hurt?”

“Is that her name?”

“Why do they want to talk to us? It was Clarke who...” Lexa trailed off.

Eleanor shook her head as she opened the car door. “It was their people who threw the teargas into the crowd, too. They were off their property. They shouldn’t have been there. They need to clean this up. And there’s no way they’re going to work with that group of radicals.” Eleanor spit the word out like it tasted bad. “We’re the _real_ players here, Lexa. They want to set up a meeting tomorrow. And the senators said they would reschedule for tomorrow or the next day, so that’s still on the table—”

“But what about Clarke?” Lexa rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted.

“I’m sure her people are taking care of her.”

“But you don’t know?” Lexa looked back towards the station. “You haven’t talked to them?”

“Why would I call them?” Eleanor’s eyes were angry. “They ruined everything today with their ridiculous chains and human barriers.”

“That’s not what you just told me.” Lexa tilted her head.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, Eleanor.” Lexa’s voice was sharper than it should have been with her chairwoman. “Because if I recall, Exxon Mobil’s people had no interest in talking to us before all this. It seems to me that if Clarke hadn’t been attacked—”

“—To be fair, Extinction Rebellion was asking for it—”

“—If she hadn’t been attacked,” Lexa interrupted the interruption, “there would be no seat for us at their table. Is that true?”

Eleanor sighed.

“Listen, Eleanor.” Lexa took a deep breath. “We’ll take the meetings, okay? I promise. But we need to take care of Clarke. She was in that cell with me, and she’s not okay. It’s the right thing to do. Even if you disagree, it would still be good optics. OCA taking care of the environmentalist who was attacked.” She looked up at her with tired, soft eyes. “We need to be on the same side.”

Eleanor studied Lexa for a long moment. Finally, she nodded, a small, curious smile tugging gently at the corner of her lips. “I’ll call the lawyer.”

* * *

When Clarke was released, she came out hanging onto a guard’s arm. She could barely stay on her feet. Her face was pale and shimmering. Lexa rushed over and propped her up, guiding her slowly out of the building to the car where Eleanor was waiting in the front seat.

“Oh my God.” She brought her hand to her mouth when she saw Clarke’s dazed face. 

“We need to get her to the hospital.” Lexa strapped Clarke in and slid into the backseat next to her. “You still with us, Clarke?”

Clarke nodded distantly.

“Just a little longer,” Lexa whispered, her voice no longer able to hide her deep worry.

Eleanor’s head swivelled at Lexa’s tone. She saw Lexa wrap her arm around Clarke, pulling her towards her. She saw Clarke rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder and Lexa close her eyes as she reached for Clarke’s hand. She had never seen her this soft.

Eleanor smiled quietly to herself and turned her eyes back to the front.

“Hey,” Lexa whispered again. “Stay awake. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“I know.” Clarke’s voice was so faint. She fell silent for a few long moments. “Hey, Lex?” she finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we can try again.”

Clarke didn’t see the tiny smile creep across Lexa’s face, but she heard it in her voice. 

“We’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, drop me a kudo!  
> If you have feelings, drop me a comment!  
> I'm also always open to respectful concrit.
> 
> I SUCK at tags, y'all, so if you think I missed something that would have been helpful for identifying the story, let me know.
> 
> If you have a song you'd like me to base a little one shot like this on, send it my way! I promise you at least 1,000 words (and sometimes you get 9,500). Find me on [tumblr](https://tsthrace.tumblr.com/) or email me at tsthrace at gmail.


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